


Of Surveillance And Grief

by Hekate1308



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has seen many things over the course of the years. But seeing Mycroft Holmes grieve might be the most tragic thing she's ever beheld. Anthea, Post-Reichenbach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Eye Beholds, The Heart Remembers

She has seen many things over the course of the years.

When you work for and closely with Mycroft Holmes, that's only to be expected.

She has seen governments fall, she has seen people, even colleagues, killed, she has seen economies crash... Sometimes more than once.

But she thinks that seeing Mycroft Holmes, the one man in Great Britain who she doesn't believe has ever betrayed an emotion, grieve right in front of her –

It just might be the most tragic thing she's ever beheld.

Of course, when it comes to presenting himself to politicians who seek his advice, to help the economy, to control the Secret Service or to help out the CIA...

He's the same.

But only then.

And only to people who don't know him well.

Which, to be honest –

Is practically everyone.

And, in a way, that's sad on its own, to know that the only man who really knew him is now lying under a rather tasteful headstone. And that the only woman who does works for him.

But, when the lights turn off, when he leaves Downing Street, when he enters the car, when he thinks he's unobserved –

She sees his shoulders slump, and there appears a faraway look in his eyes that she never saw there before –

Before his brother committed suicide.

All in all, she would never have thought that Sherlock Holmes would even consider committing suicide; she should be qualified to make this assumption, she was the one who spent hours and hours watching over him, after all, when Mycroft Holmes was out of the country or in a meeting or otherwise incapacitated (thank God that didn't happen often, her boss was a nightmare when he wasn't feeling well).

She didn't know until one and a half years after he'd hired her, that she'd have to look after the little brother of her boss – a rather unusual task, even considering her job, but then, Mycroft Holmes is everything but ordinary.

She remembers their first meeting quite well. She'd just come out of university and applied for a job at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs – and then, Mycroft Holmes had her picked up one day, after she'd done some shopping.

He looked just like he does now, back then, though minus a few worry lines (quite a lot of those have appeared since Sherlock Holmes' death). He had her brought to an abandoned warehouse, of course.

And, naturally, he came straight to the point. After greeting her politely. Though, ever since she started working for him, she doesn't use her real name anymore. At least when it comes to business and politics.

"I desire to know if you would be interested in working for me." He said, just like that.

"And what would that entail" she asked not entirely without suspicion – a strange, posh man, an abandoned warehouse, and a limousine with darkened windows certainly gave her more than enough reasons for being on her guard – before looking once more at his posh suit and deciding to add "sir?".

He explained the offer, and she, at first, had refused to believe it.

It sounded like one of those jobs she'd made up for herself, when she was a child.

Running the world without anybody noticing it.

She hadn't really made up a secretive and sometimes rather annoying boss, but she was more than ready to try.

She loved it, and he liked her well enough to tell her after six months that he had had her officially listed as his PA.

"Alright, then" she'd answered, "but are you sure your minor position in the British Government allows for a PA, sir?"

He smiled – a real smile, for the first time directed at her. By now she can distinguish that rather well. He doesn't smile – really smile, that is – often. He did, now and then, when he saw his brother. Very rarely, but he did. When he realized Sherlock Holmes had quit cocaine for good, for example. She'd known the difference by then – they'd already worked together for three years.

And she'd looked after Sherlock Holmes for one and a half years. Only when Mycroft Holmes, couldn't, of course.

When he told her, about a year after she became his PA officially, that he trusted her now enough to "look after a person on Grade 2 surveillance status. Only when I am unavailable" she believed she would at the very least watch over a Secretary of State.

When she realized he meant his brother, she'd been a little angry.

Now she knows that it was the biggest proof of trust he could give her.

Because she knows that no one means – no one meant so much to him as his little brother did.

So she watched.

She watched him struggle with his addiction, even watched him when he flew to America and met Mrs. Hudson. She watched him when he was arrested by DI Lestrade, and finally overcome his addiction to work with the police.

Well, she didn't really watch all of these moments, naturally (though she did help kidnap Doctor Watson). Only his elder brother ever saw most of them. But she kept herself informed. And not only because her boss was certainly more amiable when Sherlock was safe, but because somewhere, along the line, she'd started to care for both of them.

And with this thought comes the realisation that she, too, grieves a little.

Maybe it's wrong, but she can't help but feel a little bereft.

She didn't just watch him through surveillance cameras, after all; she met him now and then. When they'd seen each other for the first time, it had been her first time of looking after him and he had still been addicted to cocaine.

She wanted, out of curiosity, to see him in the flesh once before staring at surveillance footage for hours. Unprofessional, and something she'd never do now, but she was a little inexperienced then, as far as surveillance went.

And she hadn't expected a drug addict (stupid again) to have the same powers of deduction her boss loves to use on new faces in the world of politics.

He just went up to her, while she was sitting on a park bench, seemingly engrossed in her mobile phone, and said, "I have often informed my brother that I don't need surveillance. I don't expect that this time will have a different effect, but please, tell him again."

She looked up, surprised, and managed to stammer "Sure, Mr. Holmes".

"It's Sherlock –" and then he used her real name, and she couldn't have been more surprised.

He raised an eyebrow, a gesture the two brothers share. Shared. It's difficult, staying in the past tense while thinking about a Holmes. You don't expect them to die.

"Right" he drawled, "I'm not supposed to use your real name. I guess I should call you by your pseudonym..."

"Anthea" she answered, spontaneously. It was a name she'd never used before that day.

But she liked it, so she never used another one after.

Needless to say, it hadn't been the last time she'd spoken to Sherlock Holmes. Somehow, whenever his brother was indisposed, he seemed to know and show up at his office, just when she was keeping track of his surveillance.

He never asked her how his brother was doing.

She told him anyway, because she was aware that he'd never ask.

By some mutual agreement (that they never discussed) none of them mentioned his visits to her boss.

Though she's wondering if maybe she should do so now.

It can do no harm, and maybe –

He'd look a little less defeated.

But she decides against it, after thinking the matter over.

He already feels guilty for letting Moriarty go (another thing she never mentions, because she clearly remembers asking, "Sir – do you think that's a good idea?" and him replying curtly "It's the only option"). He doesn't need to know just how much he lost that day.

She was with him when he got the news.

They were both in a meeting with the Prime Minister, so another agent looked after Sherlock.

In a way, she's grateful for that.

She wouldn't have wanted to see him fall.

Or see Doctor Watson's face.

She saw enough of that at the funeral.

The agent was waiting for them when they returned to the office.

She knew, just from the look on his face, that something had happened.

Mycroft Holmes, of course, knew what that "something" was.

"How?" he demanded to know.

Thankfully, there were no surveillance cameras on St. Bart's rooftop.

There was one on the building standing opposite, though, and her boss locked himself in with the tape of his brother's fall for two hours.

Then he let the agent know that "It was suicide" and "he wasn't to blame".

It was on that day that she first saw the subtle signs of grief.

And even now, six months after the day Sherlock Holmes jumped, they haven't disappeared. In fact, it has got worse.

He seems to sleep less too; there are dark circles under his eyes, and she has never seen him so tired or irritable or – sad. And she thinks that he hasn't allowed himself to cry, for six long months, but that it's bound to happen soon.

So it would be best to get him out of the office.

It's four o' clock, and she knocks on the door. She hears "Enter".

He is sitting at his desk, head in hands, and for once, doesn't seem to be reading the file in front of him.

Yes, it's definitely time to get him home and allow him to grieve.

"Sir?" she asks. "I was just wondering if you'd like me to reschedule the meeting you have in fifteen minutes, with the minister of Foreign affairs – let's say eleven o'clock, tomorrow morning?"

He looks up and wants to say "No, of course not", but seems surprised at himself when what comes out of his mouth actually is a "Yes, please, I think that's a good idea".

"Very well, sir. I'll tell the chauffeur you wish to go home" she answers and leaves his office, to make any argument impossible. But just before she closes the door, she hears a quiet "Thanks. Take the rest of the day off".

So she does, goes home, takes a bath. Then she realizes she hasn't cried either – though, of course, she has no right to – but she's already crying, so she might as well finish it.

She feels better afterwards, and her boss seems to be more himself too, the next morning, though she's certain he cried himself to sleep last night.

But the signs of grief are less pronounced.

All in all, she's rather glad.

One Holmes in the world is still better than none, after all.

When he has his faithful PA at his side, that is.


	2. The Hope We Cling To

She isn't surprised often. In her line of work, she can't allow herself to be. When you're the PA of the British Government you can't be surprised because another war broke out in the Middle East, or because another British tourist got kidnapped in Africa. You just get the information and act upon it. But, still, she must admit –

Realizing that Sherlock Holmes might actually be alive, unbelievably, wonderfully alive, is enough to surprise her.

It's just a normal day at the office, about a year after Sherlock's death. Mycroft Holmes isn't the man he was before his little brother jumped – but he's as close to it as he can be, in her opinion. He grieves, he's still angry at himself. But the defeated expression has gone, and now and then, she imagines that she helped him to reach this... sort of equilibrium he now calls his life, although sometimes, when she turns up in his office unexpectedly – she checks up on him, she can't help it – he's gazing out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes, and it's not difficult to guess what he's thinking about.

But that's only to be expected. Sherlock was his little brother, and she, of all people, should know that they cared about each other. She watched over Sherlock, after all. And she still watches over her boss, because everyone needs someone to care whether they live or die.

And then she realizes something, is surprised for the first time in years, and mankind's greatest tormentor – hope – rears its head.

She is just sitting at her desk, going through some reports. Like she does every day. Even Mycroft Holmes can't read everything, and she decides what to put in front of him, which information is important enough to put on his desk. She reads that a drug cartel in South Africa has apparently stopped operating – they leaders seem to have disappeared without a trace – and puts it away, because, really, her boss has more important things to deal with –

And then she realizes, all of a sudden, that the drug cartel was part of Moriarty's web. They know about people like consulting criminals, of course they do, and she knew his dossier by heart even before he – before he convinced the world Sherlock was a fraud, which caused him to commit suicide. Something stirs in her memory.

She looks through other reports she's read and laid aside in the last year and realizes that several of Moriarty's "business associates" have either disappeared without a trace or been arrested. Since Sherlock jumped, since the consulting criminal disappeared himself – though Anthea is rather sure he's dead, seeing as Colonel Moran seems to have taken over the business.

But all this – it can't be coincidence.

Someone is hunting down Moriarty's web. Someone is trying to bring them behind bars or put them out of business in another way.

There are only a few people in the world who know enough about Moriarty to want to try it, and even fewer who would.

And this someone, whoever it is, is _succeeding_.

Actually destroying Moriarty's web.

There are only two people she can think of who'd be able to do this.

One she knows for sure hasn't done it.

The other one is dead.

At least he's supposed to be dead.

But maybe, just maybe –

He isn't.

She knows it is impossible that Sherlock Holmes is alive. She checked it was really him in the morgue, just to be sure.

But hope has already entered her heart, and she can't deny that she hasn't felt this happy in months.

She starts collecting more data.

In the next six months, three more parts of Moriarty's web are dealt with. No one else notices, because no one else pays attention. But she does, and they way it's done – no traces left, and even in the cases where there are arrests, the police can't say who tipped them off and gave them the evidence – tells her that she may be right.

Sherlock Holmes might be alive, destroying Moriarty's web.

Alone.

If he is alive – and she already believes it, despite trying not to – she doesn't want him to do this alone. And she doesn't want Mycroft to grieve any longer.

So she makes up her mind to tell her boss that his little brother might have cheated death.

One year and seven months after Sherlock jumped – seemed to jump to his death, she does so.

She takes a deep breath before she knocks on his door. She hears his usual "Enter" and walks in. He's busy. Of course.

But when she clears her throat and says "Sir, we need to talk" in a voice that brooks no argument, he looks up from the file he's reading and raises an eyebrow, and she knows she has his attention.

So she sits down and shows him the files she's put aside, the ones about the destroyed parts of Moriarty's web. He listens to her, brows furrowed, and she's aware that not even Mycroft Holmes knows what she wants to say.

So she tells him.

She's never seen him that shocked before, and she reminds herself to cherish the expression on his face later, because right now he looks like he might faint. He wouldn't to anyone else, of course, but she sees he's even paler than usual and his hands are clenched into fists.

He tries to speak. Fails. Clears his throat. Tries again.

"I don't think we can say for sure that Sherlock is still alive" but he's already hoping, she can tell "but we might be able to prove it – if it is true. Do you have an idea where he might be?"

She does. There is no visible pattern – the unknown (she has to remind herself not to think of him as "Sherlock") vigilante is as likely to be in Europe as in America, most of the time, but he seems to get rid of the biggest parts of the web first, and there's only one big organization left: A human-trafficking syndicate in Spain.

He trusts her enough to fly to Madrid the next day, Anthea at his side, where she belongs. She has all the information they need about the syndicate, but they don't know where – he may be hiding. However, there is a bar the members of the syndicate like to hang out, and whoever has been destroying Moriarty's web definitely does his research before he strikes, so there is a chance he might be there.

It's the first, and she suspects it will be the last, time in her life she's ever seen Mycroft Holmes doing legwork without complaining. He's standing next to her, in the shadows, at a corner, where they can overlook the bar.

For two hours, nothing happens, and she's starting to lose hope, the hope that she's been clinging to for seven months, but then –

At the corner opposite theirs, there's a shade.

Barely noticeable.

But tall and thin and –

She feels her boss tense ever so slightly next to her and she knows it's Sherlock. Never underestimate Mycroft Holmes' instinct. Especially concerning his little brother. He's only been wrong once before, and they just might make things right tonight.

She wants to follow the shade when he turns around, but her boss has other ideas. He puts a hand on her arm. "Wait. I'll go".

She wants to protest, but when she tries to look into his eyes without really finding them (it's rather dark here in the shadows), she knows it's useless. He wants to talk to his brother alone.

"Go back to the hotel" is all he says as he slips away, so she does as she's told.

She can't sleep. She didn't expect to. Mycroft hasn't been in touch, and she shouldn't be bothered by it, but she is. She is a little annoyed; she was the one who pointed out that Sherlock might be alive, she deserves confirmation.

A moment later, she feels guilty for being so selfish. Mycroft hasn't returned, so it must be Sherlock after all, and they have a lot to talk about. If anything happened, Mycroft would call. He always does. She's the only one of his colleagues he trusts on a personal level.

Four hours after he left her standing at the corner, she hears the door of his room open. They are staying at a small hotel, for once; her boss didn't want to attract attention by staying at an expensive one.

She goes over immediately and knocks. He opens the door, looking tired, but the traces of grief have disappeared and her heart feels lights, all of a sudden, because that's all the proof she needs that Sherlock is alive.

He steps aside and she walks into the room. He beckons her to sit down and after a short deliberation she sits down on his bed.

Mycroft clears his throat. "He's – it's him". He sounds surprised, and she can't blame him.

"Moriarty forced him to jump, otherwise his friends would have been shot by snipers" he continues, and she knows by the way he pronounces "friends" that he wasn't one of them.

"He shot himself. Someone – most likely Moran – must have got rid of Moriarty's body. We should have known about this. Tell Agent Danvers his services are no longer required."

Agent Danvers, the agent who was supposed to look after Sherlock on the fateful day. She nods. It won't be much work. The letter he's just told her to write has been sitting on her desk ever since the funeral. She's always prepared, and she knows Mycroft Holmes.

His voice is strangely quiet as he adds, "He's been hunting down Moriarty's web, all alone. He's – he's very thin. Has been injured a couple of times."

She could say a lot, but she knows what he needs, so she asks, "What do you want me to do, sir?"

He tells her to organize an account for a certain Martin Tomson, Australian, and to put money into it that can't be traced.

They fly back to London on the next day, and she's never seen him happier. There's a small light in his eyes, and the worry lines have disappeared.

For the next year (and four months), she keeps tab on Sherlock's aliases, makes sure he gets the money he needs. Then she organizes his return, watches his and John's reunion through surveillance cameras and tries not to cry with relief. She manages, but only barely, especially when she hears Sherlock has been to the Diogenes Club and her boss actually smiles for a whole day. It scares her colleagues, to be honest, because not one of them has seen Mycroft Holmes truly happy.

A few tears escape, however, on the day he is officially cleared. She's just thinking about going to bed – Mycroft has given her the next day off, as a "token of his appreciation" – when she gets a text. It's short and to the point, but she wouldn't expect anything different from Mycroft Holmes' younger brother.

 _Mycroft told me in Spain that you were the one to alert him that I was still alive._  
Thank you.  
SH

She grins even as she's crying. She can't help it. There are once again two Holmes' in the world, and she was the one to point out that there might be.

It's on days like these she's glad she accepted the job, all those years ago.


End file.
